A Chip Off The Old Block
by Absolute Elsewhere
Summary: Max receives a message from Ryan


A Chip Off The Old Block

By Absolute Elsewhere

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything, and no one makes any money off it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This story begins a matter of hours after the end of Season 3

The first dream came the night Gwen ordered her home from the hospital. She had lost track of how long she had kept vigil by Mike's bed, still in the clothes she had been wearing when Ryan had gone off the bridge. How long now? She had tried to sleep in a chair, but it was useless. Her nerves were ragged, and her mind kept running an endless loop of fear, grief, and self reproach, like a gif set loaded on a web page. Grief over losing Ryan. Self reproach for not having seen Mark coming sooner, for not being able to get to her gun faster, but mostly for not having a scratch on her when Mike was lying there, hooked up to machines and IVs. She knew it was irrational, but that didn't stop the gif from playing along with all the others. But at the moment, fear was uppermost. Mike was doing better, they said, but he was not yet out of danger, and the fear gnawed at her. _Not both of them. Please God. I can't._ She felt her eyes moistening again. In the sterile white glare of the florescent lights, Max Hardy sat in her own personal darkness, her gif set of pain looping endlessly in her mind.

She didn't notice Gwen enter the room until she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Max?", she said quietly, so as not to awaken Mike.

Max jolted upright, startled. "Sorry. Didn't see you come in"

"Can you step outside for second?".

In the hallway, Gwen said "I'm here to take you home".

"Oh. No, it's OK. I think I'll try to flake out for a while in the lounge".

"Max, have you looked at yourself? Mike is where he needs to be, and he's in good hands. He's doing better. He's strong, and he'll come through this. I know he will. But he's facing a long recovery.. He needs you now. But you are no good to him, or anyone else like this. I'm taking you home. A friend is taking my car, and I'm driving yours. No way am I letting you get behind the wheel, not like this. I'm driving you home, and you're going to get some sleep."

Max nodded wordlessly, and hugged Gwen. And some time after, she staggered into her apartment, gray and shaking with exhaustion, and made her way to her bedroom. As she undressed, she briefly wished she had asked Gwen to put her up for a couple of days. There were too many bad memories in this place now. Memories of Tom. And that laptop. Well, she would make getting moved a priority. After sleep. And a shower. And food. And checking in on Mike. And helping him through his recovery, and...

 _Slow down. One thing at a time. One day at a time. Sleep now._

She didn't so much lie down as become one with the mattress. And for the first time in nearly thirty hours, Max Hardy slept. .

She was standing outside the door to Ryan's apartment. She stared at it for a moment. Should she knock? _No. He's not at home. He can't be._ She reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. She found the key to Ryan's apartment, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Everything was where it should be. She heard footsteps. Was Gwen here? The sound was coming from the room where Ryan had kept his files on Joe Carroll. She saw the door was open, and slowly stepped forward...

"Gwen?"

"Gwen's not here right now".

It was Ryan's voice. She lunged through the door.. Ryan was sitting at his desk, staring intently at the computer monitor. The desk was covered with papers, and a cup of coffee was sitting close to the mouse. The walls were covered with papers, notes, diagrams, photographs...

"Ryan!"

Ryan looked up from the monitor, grinning from ear to ear. "You were expecting someone else?"

"My God! Where have you been?"

"Here. Working. And I see you never did return my keys."

Max wanted to throw her arms around her uncle, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot.

She looked around the cluttered room. It looked just as it did during Ryan's long, illicit manhunt for Joe Carroll "What is all of this?", she asked.

"This is a hobby."

"A hobby, or another obsession"? Max looked at a photograph more closely, but could not make it out. The photos were all blurred. So were the papers. Nothing was readable. _Because you can't read things in a dream._ The thought seemed odd to her. She'd never been a lucid dreamer before.

"Actually", Ryan said, "it's unfinished business."

Max turned to face her uncle. "Ryan, what happened? You fell off that bridge."

"Yeah, I did. Listen, you have to promise me something. I said if anything happened to me that I wanted you and Mike to take care of each other. And you will, won't you?"

"Of course we will."

"With Mike in the hospital, you'll be carrying a heavy load. And there's Gwen. She'll need your help too. I know it's a lot to ask, and I'm sorry. But I'm counting on you. I can't be there for Gwen, so you have to be. I can do this if I know the people I love are OK."

"Do what? Ryan, what is all this stuff? What are you doing?"

Ryan stood, and took stepped closer to Max, but not close enough to touch. He smiled.

"Maybe it's a Hardy family tradition. I have a heart to heart with a dead killer now and then. So I guess this makes you a chip off the old block. Anyway, I know I said I wanted my keys back, but you can hang on to them for now. Just in case."

"Killer? Ryan, please. I miss you. Where have you gone? Are you really dead? Will I see you again?"

"Remember, Max, keep your eyes open. Always"

She started to ask what he was talking about, tell him that she loved him, beg him to come back. But she never got the chance. Because suddenly Ryan was gone. She was in darkness. Lying curled up on her left side. Her right arm was wrapped around a mass of bedclothes and she was hugging it to her. She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. . She became aware of her surroundings. She was in her own bed. Or back in Kansas. Or something. She was soaked in sweat. She didn't want to get up, and if hypothetically she did get up, she had no idea what she should do first. Staying in bed seemed like the safest course of action. So she lay there, thinking repeatedly that she really should be getting up, but not actually doing it.

After a few seconds, or a few minutes, or maybe an hour, the conflict finally resolved itself. _I'm hungry. And I need to use the bathroom._ She reached over and fumbled for her phone on the night stand. She checked the time. She had been out for ten hours. She got up slowly, and found, somewhat to her surprise, that her legs would support her. She made her way to the bathroom, and checked her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a dishrag, sweaty, wrung out, and her hair was a rat's nest. _So clean up, and then breakfast. And then check on Mike. And then somehow start getting on with life._ _Without Ryan._

Musical Interlude: Haunted By The Thought Of You By Jill Tracy

 _The Following ended an episode with a musical montage. In stories I post I plan to end with a suggested musical interlude - a video that can be found on youtube. Maybe it will enhance your enjoyment of the story. Or put you on to some good music Or maybe it will just annoy you severely._


End file.
